Moments on Midgard - The Flame Series
by ChrissiHR
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots and flashfics in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, now comprised entirely of my "The Flame" Series of Tasertricks short fics.
1. The Flame, Part I, SteveDarcy

Fandom: **MCU-Avengers/Thor**

Characters/Pairing: **Steve/Darcy, Loki/Darcy**

Rating: **M, adult themes**

Genre: **angst, tragic romance**

PR: **the patient and beguilingly lovely, jarms**

Word Count: **500**

Prompt: **Week 50, photo of snow falling on a hand, peeking out from a thick, cable knit sweater**

Suggested Listening: _Sam Smith, Latch and Matthew Mayfield, Come Back Home_

 **A/N:** _Don't mind me-just ruthlessly mining my **Black & Blue** soundtrack for feels._ ;)

* * *

 **The Flame**

 **Part I. In The Warmth Of Her Embrace**

* * *

A fire burned merrily in the modern version of a hearth in Steve Roger's penthouse apartment near the top of Avengers Tower. Outside, the first flakes of a long overdue winter drifted beyond the wall of glass spanning the main living space.

Steve marveled at the view; not of the city, but of his companion.

Tucked in on the long, leather sofa with her grandmother's afghan, Darcy Lewis's chest rose and fell softly, if not steadily. With his superhuman hearing, Steve monitored her rattling breath while discreet devices affixed to her pallid skin recorded the same for Banner's lab, two stories below. Beneath the garish floral knit, movement rippled along the broad slope of her rounded belly and Darcy shivered.

The only known human to carry the child of a Frost Giant.

Not that the Frost Giant in question had the faintest idea of his impending fatherhood.

 _'Nail and bail'_ , Stark called their brief, drunken fling. It sickened Steve, what that monster did to defenseless, human Darcy. Never once had she named the father, but everyone _knew_ , especially when the chills set in. Her skin took on a faint bluish cast, her temperature dropping as her belly grew under sweaters not quite bulky enough to hide her secret.

In need of round the clock care, Darcy eventually- _reluctantly_ -agreed to move to Avengers Tower, but on her terms-on the condition that the Avengers would protect her baby from SHIELD if it turned out to be … different.

The child was innocent, she swore, no matter the identity of its father.

The only one willing to make that promise who would genuinely keep his word, Steve offered his spare room to the expectant mother.

He never expected to fall in love.

Settling by her side in the corner of the sectional, he laid a stiff arm along the back of the couch. Then, hesitantly, with all the awkwardness born of a 90-year old virgin, he brushed the messy tendrils from her forehead with a shaking hand and removed her glasses.

She sighed and leaned into his touch, murmuring softly, _"Loki…"_

Steve's heart clenched. Would she _ever_ see him? Ever look at _him_ and see the love, the longing in the kind eyes of America's hero? The one man _worthy_ of her love?

Or would she always long for the one thing she couldn't have, the one man that could and _would_ deny her with every waking breath for being less, for being mortal, no matter the innocent, kicking babe within her belly?

A chance, that's all he asked. Just one, to show her how good they could be together.

How _right_.

Until then, he'd play the only part she'd allow-the sexless best friend. Fetcher of midnight ice cream and hot water bottles, massager of feet, shoulder to cry on, supplier of hugs without strings attached.

It would have to be enough, for now, until the dawn of a new day when she was ready to let him into the warmth of her embrace.

* * *

 **E/N:** _How'd I do? You want the Loki POV, too?_ ;)


	2. The Flame, Part II, LokiDarcy

Fandom: MCU-Avengers/Thor

Characters/Pairing: Loki/Darcy, Steve/Darcy

Rating: M, adult themes

Genre: angst, tragic romance

PR: jarms

Word Count: 500

Prompt: Week 50, same photo from Part I

Suggested Listening: _Cheap Trick, The Flame and Sam Smith, Leave Your Lover \- Leave Your Lover was the original inspiration for both parts of this mini flashfic collection. More "Moments on Midgard" to come soon._

* * *

 **The Flame**

 **Part II. Out In The Cold**

* * *

Another night closed in on the Midgardian city of New York. A lone figure stood in the deepest shadow of the terrace, beyond the thick wall of glass. He watched the captain's shadow lengthen across the floor as he moved to join the frail human girl upon the couch in the room's center. She murmured-her captain's name, most likely, inclining into the warmth of another man's touch. Her head canted to the side to rest upon the stranger's lap, soft curls spilling over dark leather that reminded him all too much of the same-when those curls cascaded across his own leather- and armor-clad torso.

The movement of the child in her belly did not go unnoticed. Loki's heart stuttered in denial. He clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth.

It should have been his child. Would have been… If not for his own stupid, foolish pride, his certainty that she would wait for him while he paved the way back home to introduce her into his world.

But humans are fragile, fickle creatures with attention spans nearly as short as their miserable lives. One minute, the women of Midgard run hot; the next, cold as ice.

Most of them.

He missed her insolence.

A weary sigh escaped. That wasn't all he missed.

He missed her sarcasm and biting wit, her frigid toes tucked into the backs of his knees to torture him to release his tyranny over the duvet. He missed her surly and bleary-eyed demands for coffee when he woke her before sunrise, and even the way she narrated her Netflix stories for him at the top of her lungs while she watched with headphones on. He often feigned annoyance while pretending to read the more decorous novel.

Did she miss him at all? Or was he a passing fancy-a careless summer dalliance?

He didn't know much about Midgard gestation, but he knew she wasn't breeding when he left. Which could only mean one thing-his feckless human playmate had moved on. All to the good of mankind, he tried to convince himself. At least she'd be happy, well c…

And here he faltered.

 _Well cared for_. By her _captain_.

He felt stupid, played-the fool carrying a torch for someone who clearly did not return the sentiment. He'd barely been gone half a year, settling his affairs in Asgard and Alfheim, only to return to _this_ , instead of the vixen in straining emerald lace with plump lips and plumper tits with the covers thrown back, wearing little more than the lingerie he so enjoyed and a welcoming smile…

A bastard like him, a monster twice over-even Loki couldn't condone destroying her happiness for his own selfish ends, no matter his tender feelings for the silly, foul-mouthed girl. Best leave it with odds even. She'd be far happier with her captain and the captain's undoubtedly plump-cheeked, mewling progeny under her apron and tugging at her skirts.

Pressing a cold hand to the glass, warmed from within, he whispered a final farewell.

* * *

 **E/N:** _You wanna scream at him, right? ME, TOO. The pigheaded dingus._

 _This miniseries is my first time publishing any fandom other than a Twilight Wolf fic, and it's angst, to boot. I'm WAY outside my comfort zone here. Please, be kind._ _I'm also learning how to post to AO3, but it requires a bit more HTML knowledge than I currently possess, so it's a slooow process. Patience, please! For new readers, I'm an admin on a multi-fandom site known as Tricky Raven, and I'm much more comfortable with that formatting, for all the obvious reasons. If you're an avid reader/follower of Marvel or other fandom works, you're invited to **come join us on Tricky Raven** (link can be found on my profile page). After your new member app is approved, be sure to check out our **2015-16 multi-fandom, winter contest forum for authors and artists, Once Upon A Winter**. (We do ask for a link to at least one working fandom profile on another site during the signup process to help us weed out the spammers and 13 year old girls.)_


	3. The Blame, Prequel to The Flame

Summary: Prequel to "The Flame" Series, How Darcy met Loki and taught him to do the bachata and enjoy a michelada. Turns out, Loki has game. So does Darcy. Naughtiness ensues.

* * *

 **The Blame**

 **How Darcy met Loki, Prequel to "The Flame"**

 **PR:** _With special thanks to my awesome, michelada-drinking and bachata-dancing PR, jarms, for knowing at a glance exactly which dance they're doing in the inspiration video for this fic. *snorgles jarms* Btw, my husband PR'd this one, too. He enjoys him some tasertricks. Who knew?_

Suggested listening for those reading on platforms that don't support embedded playlists: _"Blame It On The Bossa Nova", YouTube dance video by ipemako, and "Blame" by Calvin Harris._

* * *

"What do you think he's doing over there all by himself?"

"Loki?" Tony shrugged, following Darcy Lewis' line of sight to the wall of glass and steel where a sullen and sulky Loki sat with hands clasped between his knees, staring into Tony's Malibu garden. "Plotting to kill us. Or playing Candy Crush on his phone. Your guess is as good as mine, kiddo."

Darcy's face tipped up to her boss's financial benefactor, her glasses slipping down her nose. "But it's a party. Shouldn't we be … I don't know… Trying to include him or something?"

Tony scoffed. "He's not a lonely ten year old at a kid's party, Lewis. He's the devil incarnate."

"But he's here to learn from his mistakes or something, right? Like Thor?" Her lip wobbled. "How does anyone expect him to learn empathy and compassion if he's always isolated and treated like a leper?"

"He killed people like a mean kid burning ants with a magnifying glass, kid." Tony's face tightened. "Don't start assigning emotions to him that he's incapable of feeling. We're not even on his radar."

"Thor said he was under the influence of the scepter. Nobody blames Barton for the people he killed under the influence of Darth Asgard and his magic brain stick. There's a little room for the benefit of the doubt here; that's all I'm saying." Darcy narrowed her eyes in quiet contemplation, then came to a decision. "I'm gonna go talk to him."

"Your funeral, kid." Tony tried to play it off, but he'd be watching, just in case. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

Snagging a pair of michelada cervezas from an ice bucket, Darcy wove her way through the crowd of Stark Industries employees, SHIELD's top brass, and a bizarre assortment of Hollywood and D.C. elite, ex members of the military, associates from UC Berkeley and Stanford, and Tony's wackadoodle nerd herd from MIT. Tony Stark made friends everywhere he went.

She wiggled and wobbled, finding her balance on the new heels purchased for tonight's barbecue. Living in a lab in the middle of the desert seven days a week didn't make for many opportunities to dress up and socialize for an unpaid intern, so Darcy made the most of every opportunity she could squeeze out of those six college credits. Far be it from her to turn down an invite to the 4th of July party of the year at Stark's Malibu digs. As Dr. Jane Foster's primary financial contributor, Stark took it upon himself to raise additional funding for future collaborations with the world's foremost astrophysics expert, and events like this one served as a great way to shmooze for even more support.

Jane wore matching bra and panties for the occasion.

Darcy was just glad to see her shoes matched, too, wishing not for the first time that she knew a little less about Jane's underwear habits.

Speaking of shoes, the burgundy leather peeptoes Darcy splurged on for the party were totally out of character, but they made her feel like a million bucks, so it was worth the effort of pregaming with a shot of vodka to numb her feet before she left the hotel.

She glanced down at her outfit. Slutty shorts? Check. Too-tight blouse? Check. Underwire bra worth its weight in gold? Double-D-check.

Time to go conquer some alien demigods with her sparkling wit and bodacious boobs. And if all else failed, they could always go out for burritos and tequila and ditch the grownups for a few hours. Tony would cover for them with the party poopers.

Not that Thor would notice their absence while Jane led him around like a big blond man-beast on a leash and taught him to heel.

"Hola, El Pollo Loco." Darcy shoved a beer at the befuddled God of Mischief and took a seat beside him on the bench, facing the revelers in the opposite direction. She crossed her legs, shoe dangling from the tips of her golden manicured toes.

"Loki," he corrected automatically, eyes drifting down the long expanse of lean flank on display. His fingers twitched reflexively before he closed them in his fist.

Inside, Darcy grinned. On the outside, she rolled her eyes. "Loco, Loki—like it matters if no one is talking to you anyway, Hannibal."

"I don't care for fava beans or chianti," he murmured, bringing the open bottle to his nose to sniff the contents.

Darcy goggled. "Did you just…?" Her eyes wheeled and she called out to Tony, "Mark this day on the calendar, Stark! The God of Self-Loathing cracked a joke." She smirked and looked at him out of the corner of her eye with the bottle pressed to her bottom lip. "Joke, right?"

"I killed eighty people in two days, as I'm sure one of your precious superheroes will mention at least once before this insufferable evening is over, lest you develop delusions of befriending the serial killer," he sneered.

"A serial killer has a pattern and well-laid plans. You're just a guy with a dyspeptic glowstick who needs to get laid, like, _yesterday_." She clinked her bottle against his. He wrinkled his nose. "You're supposed to swallow it, not huff it."

"What's in it?" He sniffed again.

"What do you care? You're thirsty. It's wet. It gets you drunk. It's practically a miracle. 'Ours not to reason why'," she quoted.

Loki's gaze snapped to hers. " '—ours but to do and die.' You've read Tennyson." Grudging admiration crept into his voice.

"I'm surprised _you_ have. It's hardly the kind of Midgardian literature I'd expect a crazed despot to read while simultaneously subjugating the masses."

He sniffed in disdain. "I prefer 'benevolent dictator'."

" _We_ prefer free elections and kneeling for pleasure rather than worship." She raised her bottle in mock salute.

Loki's eyebrow kicked up. She had his attention. He raised the bottle to his lips and took three long pulls.

She waited, watching a drop of sweat slowly roll down his bobbing Adam's apple.

Surprised, he recoiled, holding the bottle out to inspect the label. "It's … _refreshing_." He cleared his throat. "Regarding the other—"

"We'll get to the kneeling part later, skippy. No worries. In the meantime…" She switched hands, freeing up the one closest to him to lean in to speak over the din. "What are you doing here?"

Wary, he withdrew, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Thor received an invitation—"

"You're not Thor's keeper and you're under no obligation to go where he goes or do as he says, from what I understand. You're not even being punished, since basically everybody knows that big purple Titan guy made you his bitch. Come to think of it—why _are_ you here? On Earth, I mean?"

He eyed her, silent, radiating distrust, then asked. "You first. Why are _you_ here?"

"On Earth? Born and raised, buddy." She took another swig and glanced around the room. Catching the captain's eye, she winked just to see if she could make him blush.

He did. She sighed. Like fish in a barrel.

Loki shook his head and slid across the bench until his hip bumped hers. "No," his cool breath caressed the shell of her ear. "Why are you here _at this party_? It hardly seems the sort of social event you'd frequent, being a young academic of higher learning."

"I'm being punished," she admitted with wry grin.

"Oh?" Loki feigned disinterest, as if they discussed some banal topic like the fair California weather, but he leaned closer and kept an eye on the Avengers as they slowly drifted into gossiping clusters across the room.

"I accidentally set Thor on fire," she admitted sheepishly. "Again."

"Outstanding." His grin turned maniacal. Then recognition lit his features. "You're the one who electrocuted the idiot baboon."

"Tasered, technically. Yes, I did. Me and Sparky."

"Sparky?"

"My taser."

"You named your weapon?" He sounded surprised.

"What? Like you guys don't name _yours_?" Her arched brow indicated another sort of weapon she had in mind.

He shook his head and tried to hide the more genuine smile that broke his stern facade. He failed and Darcy knew she had him.

"Can you dance?" she raised her voice, lips brushing the silky black hair by his ear. She experienced a sudden, burning desire to bury her hands in that soft, black hair and lick him from his clavicle to his eyeball.

Freaky? Sure, but she'd bet dollars to donuts his skin tasted like dark chocolate sex, Skittles, and bad decisions.

She loved Skittles.

He grinned lasciviously. "I haven't yet learned all of your Midgardian customs. What sort of dancing did you have in mind?"

Oh, _yeah_ … Her eyes twinkled and her cheek dimpled in delight. She could see some good times ahead with the God of Mischief.

"It's called the bachata," she raised her voice over the swell of music. "—and, I promise, it's almost as good as that other thing you're thinking about." She winked and clapped a hand against his leg. "Finish your drink, Mischief. Let's show these losers how to party." She looked him up and down in his Asgardian armor. "Unless you're on the clock…?"

"I toil for no mortal cause." The Asgardian LARPing gear melted away to reveal a black, button down shirt over black jeans, fitted like he was born to wear denim. Then he laughed. Out of nowhere, totally unprompted, a big, bawdy laugh escaped and he shook his head.

"What?" She poked him, fingers dipping beneath the button placard of the shirt to skim his abs.

"Thor was watching the Netflix last week. Our conversation reminded me of a movie he loves. 'Who does number two work for?' " Loki quoted Austin Powers.

Darcy blinked and sat back. "Did you just compare yourself to a turd?"

It was Loki's turn to blink. He dropped his head into his hands. "Gods, I despise this realm."

"Aw… Don't be like that, Lolo." She bumped his shoulder. "It's not all bad. We have rocky road ice cream, micheladas—" She raised her bottle to toast him again and drained it. "—chocolate-covered strawberries, and naughty lingerie."

She had him at 'naughty', but his brows drew together in confusion. "Lingerie?"

"Good Lord of Mischief, I had no idea it was so bad," she shook her head in dismay. "Let's go request a song so we can do the bachata and see if we can't get you some useful hands-on education of Midgardian undergarments."

"No need." He rose to his feet and pulled her into his embrace, placing a hand to her temple. "Think of the song you'd like to play."

The first few bars of "Blame It On The Bossa Nova" flittered through her conscious mind. He closed his eyes and the wry grin gracing his expression widened further.

She certainly brought out the smiles in Sulkypants McAsgard.

"I've heard this song before." His silken, silver voice stroked her nerve endings like a kitten in his lap. "Your Dr. Foster watches a television show on the Netflix with the primate who calls himself my brother. There was a woman in an overlarge, white robe, drinking a pink squirrel, and singing to Rob Lowe. Then the President arrived, she threw the squirrel, and screamed. Rob Lowe mocked her."

Darcy was impressed. "The West Wing. Ainsley Hayes. She's my spirit animal."

"You are the most peculiar mortal."

"Thanks!" She wiggled with pleasure and something softened in his eyes when they met hers.

"If I may…" Loki's fingers skimmed her blouse. He waited until she acquiesced.

"Huh? What?"

He spun her out and back. "Blame It On The Bossa Nova" poured into the room from hidden speakers. Her snug white blouse and burgundy heels transformed to a shimmering emerald green as he led her onto the dance floor, the sound of her musical laughter trailing in their wake.

* * *

The Avengers team gathered around a pair of oversized chaise lounges on the patio to gawk as Darcy and Loki moved in the steps of a grinding mockery of dance. Eyes closed for a moment, he borrowed from her thoughts what little know-how needed to lead her in the crude but enjoyable motions. He swiveled his hips like a Latin lover. Darcy cackled with glee and tossed her curls as his hands slid over her hips.

"What does she think she's doing?" someone asked.

Everyone had a theory.

Bruce, "Dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight."

Natasha nodded in approval and crossed her arms. "Killing it."

Jane, "Breaking in her new heels."

Thor, "Ah, good. He's mingling!"

Steve blushed six shades of crimson. "Dancing? Is that dancing? I think it's dancing."

Clint, "Dry-humping the devil."

Fury sighed. "Making her way to the top of my shit list."

Tony, "Discussing strategy for defeating Candy Crush."

All eyes turned on Tony as Darcy's hands skimmed her curves and her butt wove in mesmerizing figure-eight rhythms.

"What?" Tony demanded, exasperated. "He plays. I taught him how to download a few apps. Keeps him out of trouble."

"Looks like he found more trouble to get into," Clint mumbled.

"Would that it were so." Tony sighed and pursed his lips. "He could stand to get into some more of _that_."

"We aren't seriously encouraging this?!" Steve demanded as Darcy wrapped her arms around Loki from behind and popped the buttons on his shirt with a flourish. Her hand slid down the planes of his torso sheened with sweat.

Loki dipped and turned her in his arms, giving Tony a prime view down her excuse for a shirt. She hitched a leg up over the devil's hip and met him thrust for thrust. He spun her around—her back to his front—and swiveled his hips against her bumping and grinding butt. Her belt popped open. One of Loki's long-fingered hands disappeared inside her dark denim shorts. A secretive smile tipped the villain's lips as he stroked black lace and it shimmered to green.

Tony snickered. "I sincerely doubt they require much encouragement at this point."

The song drew to a close and Darcy swayed, crystalline eyes locked on emerald green. Loki's hands lingered on the small of her back, supporting her slight weight with hands that could easily span her waist, reluctant to release his hold. She rose on her tiptoes and he stooped down to her height. They spoke at the same time and laughed lightly. Loki led her from the floor to their bench and conjured up a tall glass of something green and wicked-looking, kneeling between her legs and offering it up for her refreshment.

Jane's eyes widened seconds before she rushed across the room to stop her intern. "Darcy!"

The pale brunette started, whipping her head around to meet her boss' death glare.

Jane hissed, "Are you crazy? He could be trying to roofie you!"

Darcy rolled her eyes dramatically. "Dude, he's the God of Mischief, not Date Rape. Besides, he's got _game_. I'd ride him like a bucking bronco stone cold sober."

Jane's hands slapped her hips. "Your memory is crap. He killed eighty people in two days."

"Temporary madness," Thor piped up helpfully. "He got better."

"Listen to the buffoon." Eyebrows raised innocently, Loki conjured his own glass of the icy green cocktail, toasted the God of Thunder, and took a sip. "I got better."

"See?" Darcy smirked at Jane. "Now don't you feel like an asshole, making fun of the mentally ill?"

Jane sputtered. Darcy drained her glass. Loki did the same, vanishing the remains into the ether. His hands grasped her knees, sliding up and over sleek, toned quads to tease at the hem of her shorts.

She took that as her cue. "Later, losers. Time for me to find out why they call him Silvertongue." Darcy wrapped a hand around the nape of the God of Mischief's neck and followed his lead back out onto the dance floor.

* * *

 **E/N:** _I must admit, I'm pretty new to this fandom and ship, so I'm not sure whether a really smutty follow-up would be appropriate or welcome. I could certainly write one, if there's interest. Let me know. Thanks for reading! P.S. Props to Liz over on AO3 for catching my Austin Powers misquote. Fixed now!_


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